


i have lightning

by sarcangel



Series: tumblr ficlets [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, just some narry hiatus, please disown me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 16:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15634851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcangel/pseuds/sarcangel
Summary: “Have you ever eaten a raw olive?” Harry asks. Niall can actually taste them on his breath, green and briny, mixed with vodka and actual bitters; Harry still needs to breathe to live, after all, and still has no concept of personal space.





	i have lightning

It’s a form of military torture, Niall’s sure, although he’s got no secrets worth prizing out, or at least no secrets that would mean anything to anyone else. But Harry’s draped all over him, one arm over Niall’s shoulder as he leans forward, knocking their knees together. Harry’s barely sitting on his stool at all, and his liquor-soaked breath washes over Niall’s mouth every time he talks, and he won’t stop talking.

“They’re actually fermented, Niall,” Harry says, picking an olive up out of the little bowl the bemused bartender brought them. “Or they’re too bitter to eat.”

It’s the slow rambling that gets to him the most, soaks its way under his skin. Harry’s half-plastered, and he’s learned something new on his trip to Italy, and his hair is curling over his ears and forehead in the muggy August air while he tells Niall all about it.

Niall’s pint glass is slippery against his fingers, sweating down the side of his hand. Harry doesn’t need a response, at least, or maybe they’ve been friends for too long and he can just pluck it out of the air. No More Talking Required.

“Have you ever eaten a raw olive?” Harry asks. Niall can actually taste them on his breath, green and briny, mixed with vodka and actual bitters; Harry still needs to breathe to live, after all, and still has no concept of personal space.

‘I haven’t, no,” Niall says, taking a drink of his lager.

“What?” Harry squawks, indignant. He slides his arm off of Niall’s shoulder, trailing his fingers down the side of Niall’s neck as he goes. They’re on to the second round: when the first method isn’t effective, other forms of persuasion must be utilized.

It’s dark in the pub, like most pubs are; it’s a bit of a dive, if Niall’s being honest - but he likes it, it’s comfortable and not too crowded. Something boozy and raw scratches out over the speakers while Harry fishes an olive out of his glass.

“Here,” he says, holding it up to Niall. “You have to try it.”

“Harry -” Niall starts, almost fed up for once - it’s this fucking heat, is all; and that he hasn’t seen Harry for ages, and he’s growing his hair out again, and Niall just needs his lips to stop moving for one fecking minute. Harry takes the opportunity to shove the olive in Niall’s open mouth.

Harry’s slow when he’s drunk, Niall knows. So when Harry keeps his fingers there for too long, lightly pressed against Niall’s lips, which are closing around the olive - it’s not a thing. It’s not a thing, when Niall accidentally licks Harry’s finger, and Harry draws in a big breath, suddenly, and slides all the way off his stool.

There’s a bigger height difference, with Harry standing right between his knees, staring down at him - something flickering across his face, maybe curiosity. He takes Niall’s pint glass out of his hands, and sets it carefully on the bar.

“Oi,” Niall says. “What are you on about?”

“Need some air, I think,” Harry says, pulling Niall off his stool. “You’re coming with me.”

“You do realize it’s hotter outside than it is in here, right?” Niall mutters, as they weave their way towards the door.

“It’s symbolic air,” Harry says. “Trust me.” Harry practically pushes him through the front door. Outside the bar, the air is like a wet sponge, sticking to Niall immediately, warm and damp and instantly sweaty. Harry hovers behind him for a second on the nearly deserted pavement, before pushing Niall forward again. “Let’s just,” he says, tugging on Niall’s shirt sleeve. “Over there.”

“Over there” ends up being around the corner of the building, a quiet side street without much else to offer, except open air and the illusion of privacy. Despite the heat, it does feel good - being outside, having more space to breathe.

“Feel better yet?” Niall asks. In the corner of his eye, Harry is standing still, eyes closed and face turned up to the sky.

“Come here,” Harry says, blindly whisking his hands through the air.

“Don’t think so.” Niall says, stepping further out of reach. “You’ve lost the plot.” His laugh skitters down the sidewalk, bouncing between the buildings.

“Niaaalll,” Harry whinges. “We’re sharing a moment.” He keeps his hands stretched out but holds them still, waiting for Niall to meet him. For two wild seconds, Niall considers what would happen if he didn’t - the infinite universes stacked on top of them, collapsing and reforming, stringed with possibilities like glass beads. In this universe, though, he doesn’t want to say no - he never has, it’s sometimes a problem.

But he moves closer, until the sleeve of his vest brushes the edge of Harry’s hand. Harry, who - like an absolute idiot - is still standing with his eyes closed, smiling up at the dark sky like it’s his fucking birthday. Harry, who moves faster than he should be able to, grabbing Niall’s arm and pulling him the rest of the way over.

“Hello,” Harry says, stumbling a little and opening his eyes, finally. He turns to look at Niall, still pressed shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, he can’t miss it when Harry’s eyes move slowly down to his mouth; his stomach does a long backflip. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Harry -” Niall starts. Harry pushes a finger sloppily against Niall’s lips.

“Shhhh,” he says. “I know that voice. You’re about to be practical. Just...” He nudges Niall back, using his whole body to move him up against the warm brick of the bar. Harry’s arms are spidered around him, and his face is so close, again, like all he wanted tonight was to breathe the same air.

“Just?” Niall asks, holding his own breath.

“Just let me,” Harry says, sliding a leg in between Niall’s. “OK?”

It’s a tiny word, two letters. It’s hard to get them out, between the crashes of his heartbeat which might actually rupture his chest.

“OK,” he says. The long line of Harry’s body presses against him, shocking up his bones like static electricity. Harry’s fingers are clutched tight on his hip bones, as if he’s afraid Niall’s going to bolt; and God, the tiny points of pain light him up, put Niall fully in the moment. “OK,” Niall says, reaching up to sink his fingers into Harry’s hair, pulling that wide mouth down to his, finally. It’s the third form of torture, swallowing the tiny sounds that Harry makes when Niall licks into his mouth, a universe of possibility unspooling around them.

 

Notes:

cuando tengo ideas horribles (i'm such narry trash).  come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://sarcathlon.tumblr.com/) 


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